The Escape Of Tom Robinson
by Lady Infamous
Summary: A retelling of an event that wasn't really described in the book. I admit, it wa a homework assignment, but I just got so caught up, I decided to post this here. The untold Story of Tom Robinson's escape, from his deceased perspective/memory.


It was our exercise period. All of us were out here, a sea of dark arms and legs, some already ebony, some tanned by the large amounts of time they had spent outside, all moving in the same rhythm. I knew I'd never get a fair trial, 'long as I was out here in Maycomb. I knew Atticus Finch would try his best, but there was no way in hell he would get me a re-trial.

I knew I had to run. I had to seize the one opportunity to take control of my life. My life, my future, my outcome, this was all mine, and all I could think about was how it was all being run by other people. All I could think about was the sun beating down on my back, the distance from where I was to the barbed fence, and whether or not the sunlight would get in the guards' eyes. All I could think about was my fate, soft and malleable like clay, in the hands of someone else, and how I easily could change that. So, like a butterfly from a child's hands, I escaped.

The sun was beating down on my back, and as I lifted my right hand to my forehead, I seized the chance to calculate the distance between the fence and myself. _Not too far_, I had remarked to myself. If the guards were distracted or blinded by the sunlight for a moment, then I could make it, bad arm and all. I looked around, like a crafty criminal in a picture show, not fearing suspicion from the guards at all. No one would suspect the cripple, the _gimp_, of _ever _trying something, 'specially escape.

I waited for a while, waiting for the sun to shine its brightest, blinding the majority of the guards 'round Enfield. I closed my eyes, trying to memorize the sounds of the prison camp, just so I could enjoy freedom that much more. I tried to put the sounds and smells of grunting, exercising, jailed men onto some shelf in the back of my head. I did this for a bit, still moving, so the guards wouldn't go thinking I was dead or something, until I sensed the sun grow brighter from behind my eyelids. I could tell because it turned the inside of my eyelids into a kaleidoscope of colours. Pink, red, orange, and white slashed across a black canvas.

Bending my knees, I jogged a little on the spot. Such behaviour wouldn't come off as strange or nothing, seeing as it _was_ our exercise period, and it would be helping my legs get ready for the biggest race I'd ever run in my life. See, growing up I used to be the fastest runner in my family. We used to hold family races with all my aunts, uncles, and cousins, _heck_, even the elders would come 'round to watch us, laughing their wrinkled behinds off. Everyone would run, but every time, _every damn time_, I would win. This time, I'd _have_ to win.

I took one breath, a real deep one, just to calm my nerves. They were up and jumping everywhere under my skin, like I had just downed a whole jug of coffee. I slowly jog-turned myself around, and took another breath. This wasn't the relaxing, head-tingling type. This was the kind that readied you. This was the last one you took before you started running a race. This was the kind that you sprinted a hundred yards on, relying almost completely on this one breath of life, this one breath of confidence.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

Then I was flying, the pounding of my feet loud against the cement. I swung my arm like you were supposed to, so as to make you run faster. Adrenaline pumped through my arms, my brain, my stomach, and most importantly, my legs. My calves were pounding with excitement, horror, and anxiety, all rolled into one big juicy haystack, waiting to be pulled by the hands of Farmer Fate.

I was doing it, I really was! I was escaping this hellhole of a life controlled by others, my every turn manoeuvred by someone else's hands, and into freedom! I kept my legs pumping, my one arm swinging awkwardly, albeit with purpose. _Quick, just run a little faster, a little harder, just reach that barbed fence._

_One, two, three! One, two, three! One, two, three..!_

_Go, go, go! GO!_

My brain was ordering me to run faster, my legs were screaming, scrambling to keep up with the demands of my brain. I heard yelling, so I turned them into cheers in my head. I kept running, running, running… I ran like a wildcat; I ran like a man of war would run back home to greet a child he had never met; I ran like _lighting_.

The moment I reached that barbed wire, I felt such a release in my head I had to gasp for air. I smiled mid-breath, and stretched my arm across the tiny distance between freedom and captivity. As I gripped the fence, the barbed wire cutting into my hand, I had never enjoyed bleeding like this before. Never again would I complain about blisters ripped open, blood trickling from cuts and scrapes. Every wound would be a reminder of this wonderful, joyous moment. As I lifted my legs up, I felt more of it. That wonderful pain, reminding me of my freedom.

However, I soon realized that the pain was coming in stabs and stabs, and I looked down: A small, bleeding red hole in my stomach. Another pang of stabbing pain, another hole. Another followed, and then another, and another; they just kept coming until the pain, a mixture of ecstasy, throbbing regret, and numbing, all just overcame me, and everything, played out like tons of paintings shown at me way too fast, just suddenly went black.

_Black. _

_Darker than any closet, cave, hole, anything._

_Blacker than looking inside someone's ears._

_Everything._

_Black._

I had escaped.


End file.
